I didn't make the world, and I have
never seen why I should spend my energies in trying to mend what the
Demiurge has made a mess of. In my view the object of everybody should be
to _live_, as acutely as possible--to get as many sensations, as many
pleasant reactions as possible--out of the day. Some people get their
sensations--or say they do--out of fussing about the poor. Forty years
ago I got them out of politics--or racing--or high play. For years past,
as you know, I have got them out of collecting works of art--and fighting
the other people in the world who want the same things that I do.
Perfectly legitimate in my belief! I make no apology whatever for my
existence. Well, now then, I begin to be old--don't interrupt me--I don't
like it, but I recognize the fact. I have various ailments. Doctors are
mostly fools; but I admit that in my case they may be right; though I
intend to live a good while yet in spite of them. Still--there it is--who
is to have this money--and these collections? Sooner than let any
rascally Chancellor of the Exchequer get at them, I would leave them to
Dixon. But I confess I think Dixon would be embarrassed to know what to
do with them. I don't think I possess a single relation that I don't
dislike. So now we come to the point. With your leave--and by your
leave--I propose to leave the money and the collections--to you!" The
young man--flushed and staring--half rose in his chair.
"To _me_? What can you possibly mean, sir?"
"Precisely what I say.
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